


Elvarel Shiral

by MatriarchofFire



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-23 22:11:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4894267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MatriarchofFire/pseuds/MatriarchofFire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The answer came to her in a moment of raw, glaring clarity. The former Inquisitor did little more than glance down a passing pair of servants from Halamshiral as Dorian took his grand exit from the Exalted Council. It was then that she decided Dorian may no longer like her very much if she proved successful. It was then she decided that the only way to change Solas’ mind was to first draw his attention, and she had to begin with her own people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Deshanna

**Deshanna**

_Keeper,_

_The Inquisition is ended._

_I had thought to return home, but there is yet work to be done-- work that I cannot abandon. I ask that you bring the clan southward, and I know that this is a large request. There is so much I need to show you, to tell you, and I am afraid that I cannot do that if I were to go to you._

_I need you, Hahren. I cannot do this without you, without our people. I know that you, and only you, will be true to the purpose that I must fulfill. The shemlen here do not understand. I do not think they will ever truly understand. I must hope that you, and our clan, will understand. I fear you will not. I fear you will turn away from me when I tell you the truth._

_Our gods are not gone._

_Please, come to the Dales. I will be waiting for you at Var Bellanaris._

_Burn this letter._

_Signed,_

_Ethala_

* * *

 

Deshanna uprooted her clan immediately. There was an urgency in her First’s letter that she could not deny. Passage across Nevarra and south through Orlais proved treacherous, but the halla guided them to safe paths. Their caravans crossed the great distance with little trouble, though it felt as if eyes were upon them. The hunters shared her concerns, but game did not suffer. The halla did not fear. Through mountains and forests and great plains, they traveled at the Inquisitor’s behest.

To look upon Dirthavaren was a great blessing. In all her years, she never saw the battlefield that once claimed so many Elvhen lives. Many of her clansmen looked upon it in horror. Its reconstruction was nearing an end, but the shemlen had taken it utterly. Little remained but the large statues of the Dread Wolf, something Deshanna found most peculiar. Her Keeper taught her that all statues to their gods had been destroyed when the shemlen marched upon them, and this she once taught the Inquisitor. She took in the sight of the great wolf overlooking Dirthavaren, and to protect herself from Fen’Harel’s eyes, she drew the hood of her cloak over her greying hair.

There was, of course, the very poignant phrase her First left within her letter. Our gods are not gone. They echoed from the lips of the Clan with hope and fear at once. Did their legends not tell them the only god who yet remained in Thedas was Fen’Harel? They feared this was the case. They feared their honored First called them to battle the Dread Wolf himself, a fight they all believed the shemlen did not understand. Long had their beliefs been mocked, their people murdered for forsaking their Maker. They had Creators, and like their Maker, the Creators had abandoned them. They were not so different.

At her side, young Venuriel walked with steps full of anticipation. She was but five years younger than the former Inquisitor, and her sister by blood. Freckled and dark haired, their relation could not be denied. Venuriel had yet to take her Vallaslin. She insisted on her sister’s presence despite the ever tumultuous life Ethala lived, and the Keeper assumed that this contributed to the girl’s eager mood. Many times in their journey, the child wandered ahead with a keen eye upon the horizon, watching for her sister’s silhouette in the trees. She found nothing as the rest of her clan found nothing. Every passing day, her anticipation waned. Deshanna assured her they had yet to reach Var Bellanaris, but the child could not be consoled. She wished for her sister’s company long before the sight of the burial grounds ever appeared.

Hahren Suhlana, now honored as the mother of the Herald, found enough strength in her steps to join the Keeper and her youngest child at the front of the caravan. Greying and withering, Suhlana outlived the expectations of her peers. Struck with illness often, the clansmen believed her cursed. She continued to walk among them despite their many fears and beliefs, and her steps were posessed with a determination few of the younger generation could hope to match.

As they crested the hills just beyond the river, Deshanna caught sight of her first, sitting alone at the gateway to Var Bellanaris. Her hair had grown so long, delicate and shifting in the wind like the willows of Wycome. Bare faced and weary eyed, she would not have believed it to be Ethala if she did not know the girl as a child. She dressed as one of them, but her vallaslin had vanished. Her First raised her head to look at them, and her expression betrayed little. Deep brown braids fell over her face. Her arms came back from behind her, and Suhlana let out an audible gasp as she realized her daughter’s left hand was gone.

“Da’len?” The Hahren moved down the hill with haste, and in the space between the clan and Var Bellanaris, she met her child in a hurried embrace. It seemed she was the only one who ignored Ethala’s bare face. Just behind her, Deshanna heard the murmurs begin.

She watched as mother and child exchanged hushed whispers too quiet for the Keeper to hear. What passed between them, she trusted would reach her ears in time. Ethala watched their  approach over her mother's shoulder, ever mindful of her clan. There would be many questions. There would be many happy greetings, but her First’s bare face put a shadow over their reunion. She did not understand. No one understood.

“Andaran Atishan, Keeper,” Ethala said as she separated from her mother.

She approached the clan with slow and deliberate steps, ever observant. Deshanna moved toward her, offering a hand to a child she had helped birth into the world and raise as a proud woman of the People. Their fingertips touched, and in Ethala’s cold hand, the elder sensed her worry and concern. She feared this reunion.

“Aneth Ara, Da’len. We have much to discuss,” Deshanna withdrew from her and watched her with sharp eyes.

A pause marked Ethala’s thoughts. She greeted her sister with little more than a smile, and the absence of words left a frown upon young Venuriel’s face. Her First aged in the three years since they all looked upon her, and with the wisdom that came from these unseen years, the Inquisitor turned away from them.

A gesture of her remaining arm beckoned Deshanna to follow her into the gravesight,” You are right. It is best we speak of it alone first.”

Venuriel glanced at Deshanna as she passed. Worry weighed upon the child’s brow, but she did not give it voice. It was the same look the Keeper witnessed upon the Hahren’s face. Likely, her clansmen betrayed similar anxieties. Ethala had never been so quiet when she walked among them. Ethala never her turned her back to her Keeper.

Under high boughs and within stone walls, the woman once a child turned to her elder again took her hand into her own. Thin fingers traced the grains upon Deshanna’s sylvanwood ring, a practice that once marked thought during their lessons. Ethala’s sharp features gave way to a sigh of relief, and she guided her Keeper to sit upon the moss covered earth of Var Bellanaris.

“Thank you for coming. I was beginning to think I would have to move on,” Ethala kneeled among the high grasses with a short laugh, a passing sound to try and relieve her own tension,” There is so much I want to say, Hahren.”

“Begin with what you can, child. Speak the rest when you are able,”Deshanna looked her First in her earthen eyes, and within them she saw fear. The secrets that troubled her brought water to the surface too often, it seemed. Red lines of weeping only now seemed to dull in Ethala’s eyes. Deshanna laid her staff to rest upon the earth, and she closed her hands about the Inquisitor’s fingers.

“It is my hope that you, and many of our kin, will help me in something that is very important to our future,” Ethala seemed uncertain of offering her hand, but she allowed the gesture as she continued,” It all sounds so silly, even when I try to repeat it to myself. You will think me a foolish child.”

“You were once a child, but never a fool,” Deshanna lifted a hand to press to her First’s cheek in an attempt to dispel her fears.

“You must promise that what I tell you does not leave this place.”

“What has happened, da’len?” She asked, and she hoped her affectionate gestures thus far assured Ethala of her secrecy.

The answer to her hopes came in a soft smile. Ethala turned her palm upward to accept her elder’s hands, and she turned her gaze upon their entwined fingers. A moment of contemplation drew silence between them. At once, the flow of heavy truths fled from the Inquisitor’s mouth.

“I have walked our people’s ancient halls. I have heard the last words of our ancestors as their empire crumbled. I know the truth, Keeper. Secrets long forgotten have been shown to me. I have walked with the Dread Wolf, known him in all ways a woman can, and you must believe me when I tell you that he is not what our long traditions have taught. You must--”

Deshanna lost the grain of the Inquisitor’s words to the sudden weight upon her heart. She watched the weathered woman’s lips move with phrases she did not hear and could not understand. Her first saw her confusion, and silence fell upon the holy site as Ethala awaited her Keeper’s clarity. Deshanna searched for lies within the Inquisitor’s eyes and found none. Year apart could not hide the signs of deception within the girl.

“Did he hurt you?” Deshanna allowed the question to slip from her lips, so simple and mundane compared to the few sentences she comprehended.

“No,” the child frowned at her. A flash of a lie sparked through the gentle ravines of her irises. How had he hurt her?

“You are lying,” The Keeper insisted as she leaned toward her First, “speak slowly, tell me everything.”

And so she did. For hours they sat among the tombs of the dead. Ethala began from the very first, from the moment she stopped Corypheus’ plan and stole the mark from him. She spoke of how the Dread Wolf tended her when she kneeled before death’s door, how he saved her from such a terrible fate. She spoke of his companionship. Even the mere mention of their time together brought sad smiles to the child’s lips. He stood beside her through many great battles and many small ones. Fen’harel tended her wounds and held her through the night, but so too did he take her hand from her and turn his back upon what they built. She explained her missing vallaslin, removed by the Dread Wolf during a final peaceful moment. Ethala did not miss them. She merely missed the reminder they brought when she saw herself within a mirror.

Night fell before the Inquisitor’s tale was finished. Ancient history lost to legends and whispers wove into her tales of Circle Mages and Red Templars, and then came her strange request.

“Please, help me save him.”


	2. Ethala

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethala receives her answer from Keeper Deshanna.

Ethala

The answer came to her in a moment of raw, glaring clarity. The former Inquisitor did little more than glance down a passing pair of servants from Halamshiral as Dorian took his grand exit from the Exalted Council. It was then that she decided Dorian may no longer like her very much if she proved successful. It was then she decided that the only way to change Solas’ mind was to first draw his attention, and she had to begin with her own people. The Dalish rose to prominence in her mind. Thoughts of home mingled with Solas’ short words of dislike for the ways of the Clans. How many of them could the Dread Wolf take into his service while their hearts were filled with fear at his mere mention? Just as well, how many of them would follow her into her plots with the same fears as pertinent as if he attempted to recruit them? She may have meant to stop him, but she meant to save him as well.

Three days after the Inquisition disbanded, she wrote her Keeper and begged for the woman to guide her clan south. She left their former companions to their lives they surely missed with little but warnings they would see her again soon. Leliana and Cassandra knew to be ready for what she conjured among the Dalish, though she dared not tell them the truth. If Arl Teagan thought her actions before this might start a war, he could not fathom the lengths she would go to for Solas, or perhaps the better turn of phrase would be ‘to stop Solas’. Only Leliana and Cassandra were aware of her plans to abandon Orlais and its human population to field her army from another source.

She abandoned her friends to the lives she knew they desperately wanted to rejoin. They were not like her, without a defined purpose outside of the Inquisition. Of course, Ethala plotted a path for herself in her mind, but where it truly lead, she did not know. Only the destination was clear. Its many twists and turns were hidden from her sight, and she did not know how to properly reach her goal. The first step she took while the Orlesian nobility still enjoyed themselves in the halls of Halamshiral following the Exalted Council. She abandoned the trappings of the Inquisition and its many allies as freely as she breathed. It was not a life she would miss.

Ethala tried to tell herself she had not missed the freedom that came with wandering alone. To feel the earth beneath her feet again brought her peace in the face of all she witnessed, and for a time, each day was simple. She ate from the supplies she brought with her from Halamshiral, filled her waterskin at the rivers she remembered from the Inquisition’s time in the Dales. Magic made it easier to hunt, when such an action was required. The preparation was difficult, though. Many of her first attempts left her in tears. She could not properly manage to clean a kill, so what she did not manage to cut and eat at that moment, she left as an offering to the wolves.

It seemed appropriate.

Her hair remained a wild, untamed mess. Brushing it with a single hand left her in the same state as attempting to clean a kill. She tried in the dark hours, and when the light of the fire faded, she abandoned her comb to the depths of her pack, forgotten until the next day where she struggled again. It grew too long, and she found it strange that such a struggle became her greatest.

Those days lay behind her, and her Keeper sat before her. Ethala could not understand the look in Deshanna’s grey eyes. She hoped it was contemplation as the elder worked through the confusion that surely came with her words. The former Inquisitor could have taken days to tell the tales she condensed into but a few hours. She spared herself the details that wounded her most, shortened every moment she spent with Solas into passing sentences. It was the way the rest of the world would tell the story too, she imagined. The most important details lost to time until his presence in the Inquisition was all but forgotten. She told herself this even as she considered that the proper story may not even be told before the Dread Wolf had his way.

She imagined her people turning their backs on her. She imagined Deshanna rising from the grass and abandoning her there in the burial site, doomed to face her task alone. The fact she came close enough to hear the woman’s hurried, frantic tale still surprised the Inquisitor. Her people looked at her with uncertainty in their eyes as she led their Keeper away from them. Did they believe her a wolf now that her vallaslin were gone? All these endings she imagined, and she could not prepare herself for the possibility that she would be heard.

Deshanna shifted in the grass to sit at Ethala’s side. As if she were a child, her Keeper wrapped her arms about the woman’s shoulders and held her to her chest. The familiar gesture melted the once proud Inquisitor, and she could pretend for a moment that her face was still marked and the sky had never torn. She closed her eyes to the dying light of dusk, and in the warm embrace of family, she wept. This was not the time, nor the place. Her sorrows did not belong soaking in her Keeper’s leathers. They belonged within her, forgotten, hardening into a cutting edge. Instead, she allowed them to leak from her body, and a great weight left her shoulders.

“I will help you,” Deshanna whispered into her knotting hair,” the truth is in your eyes, da’len.  I would not have sent you if I had known this would be your fate. Ir’abelas.”

“Tel’abelas. I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she lied.

Of course, Ethala would have it another way. She would have seen Solas stay with her when the orb shattered. She would have had him turn his back on this plot to tear down the Veil. She would have had him there, sitting beside her to meet her clan. Child’s dreams, wishes the Inquisitor could no longer dwell on. She moved forward, and behind her she buried these scenarios as she buried the dead.

“Will you tell the clan of this?”

“Soon, when the time is right. I fear what they will think,” Ethala responded.

“They will fear what you say, as I fear it. But your words bring us a choice we must recognize.”

“And what choice is that?”

“We must choose life,” Deshanna leaned back to look down at her first, and she used the silence in the moment to emphasize her point,” Or we must choose death. To do nothing is to choose death. To treat you as a liar is to choose death.”

Deshanna understood her better than the former inquisitor thought. The Elder did not approach this possibility with anger in her heart. Fear filled her, as it once filled Ethala. The fear had grown cold in the young one’s heart, and her fears slumbered until she took to rest herself. Every waking moment, she applied herself to righting the fears of others. Even when she waited for her clan, she pondered the possibilities. Now, with the first step of her plan completed, she could consider the rest.

“Come, da’len. Rest awhile in the arms of your family. Your mother will want to clean your hair,”Deshanna’s voice softened,”  you look terrible.”

Laughing and weeping in equal measure, Ethala nodded to her Keeper. She opened her eyes to the aging and smiling face that angled down to her, with warmth of a mother’s love in Deshanna’s eyes. It humbled her to see such a look. To be welcomed among her clan again brought a rush of relief, silencing every anxiety that threatened to overtake her since she allowed Solas to remove her vallaslin. It dried the tears upon her face and within her eyes, and she began to stand with Deshanna’s aid.

"I could use the help. Maybe she could braid it for me like she did when I was a child, so that I don't have to worry about it for awhile," Ethala kept hold of her Keeper's hand as they returned to the clan.

They found them camped just beyond the walls. At the center of the five aravels clan Lavellan sailed across the earth beside, a single great fire had been lit for cooking and firelight. She could hear familiar chattering voices within, and her name mingled in the air with the smoke of the fire. Gossip entwined with fire, and as she and Keeper Deshanna came into the center, the firelight whispers denied. The clansmen looked to their Keeper for a sign, anything to show their First was now returned to them.

Deshanna extended a thin hand to them, and with certainty she said," Our Child is returned to us. Ethala will accompany us for the arlathvhen."

"Is she First again, with her bare face?" A young, freshly marked hunter spoke.

Ethala knew him as Halamlen, last son of his parents Yeshani and Sahlunai. Halamlen had trained under her father's tutelage, and he proved his worth as a hunter long before the Dalish ever called him a man. Yeshani often said Halamlen had been dropped into the mud when he was born, and the earth darkened his skin and hair. Ethala knew better than to believe such stories as a girl. Halamlen was merely sunkissed beyond the limits of his parent's bodies, and his wood colored hair complimented it well.

"That will be her choice. Ethala has suffered long in the company of the shemlen," Deshanna looked to her with drawn lips," but she is a child of our clan. She will go with us, and she will make her own choices."

"And that is wonderful," Suhlana spoke above the uncertain whispers, and she extended her hands to her child," Come sit with me, da'len. Let me see your poor hair."

Ethala was ever thankful for her mother’s glad welcome, and she walked from her Keeper's side. She dropped to sit in front of her mother, and across the fire, the former Inquisitor stared at Halamlen. He distrusted her. The loss of her vallaslin apparently troubled the boy, whose face was marked in the name of Andruil. He looked back at her, uncertainty in his eyes, but he would not challenge his Keeper. He looked away, and Venuriel blessedly sat beside her sister with a wooden tray in her hands. Scattered upon its surfaces were glass beads and broken pieces of shells with holes drilled into them.

"What color do you want?" Her younger sister asked, grinning from ear to ear," red to go with your clothes?"

"Please," Ethala nodded to her.

Suhlana worked a bone comb slowly through the large tangles that developed within the former Inquisitor's hair since the loss of her hand. With a mother's care, she brushed through the knots to free her child's hair. It seemed to take her the whole of Ethala’s meal to finish the work. One of the younger girls took Ethala's remnants from her, and she was left by the fireside to be fussed over by her family.

 

Both sister and mother took to her freshly combed hair to braid beads and shells haphazardly into areas of her hair. Ethala stared into the fire all the while, and for a time, it felt as if she never left for Haven. Skyhold felt far away when she stared into the firelight. Her dear friends drifted away with the smoke, and with them went the memories. She pressed her palm into the earth, and the voices of her clan drove away the thoughts of Solas. Solitude could not give her this peace.

 

So she took what the world gave her, and she held it close to her heart as comfort against what was lost. To live as she once lived, among many and wandering the world, showed her that not all had been lost. She felt at peace with her decision to dissolve the Inquisition and to turn her back upon Skyhold. Ethala needed exactly this: a reminder of what she intended to preserve. Perhaps the world would change when she began her own plots, but moments like these could not survive in a world torn asunder.

 

When her mother was satisfied with the braids in her hair and the secured bun she wound on the top of Ethala’s head, the First laid herself down against her mother’s lap. A childish comfort to take, but she desired a continuation of this isolated moment. The world beyond the aravels did not exist.

* * *

_She knew this place. The thick wood of the Arbor Wilds surrounded her, and in its damp, humid brush, Ethala sat alone. Her left arm existed as a ghost of pale green light, and it moved with her as she willed her fingers to flex open and closed. She turned both palms upward, and the sight of her left reminded her of the light of the Anchor. It neither sparked nor glowed as strongly, and though this was but a dream, she was thankful for that. The air felt as it did when Solas lead her to a dream of Haven, and when she lifted her eyes, she caught sight of a singular wolf among the trees, staring at her._

_She watched the figure with unblinking eyes. She had no need for it in the fade, and she feared he might disappear if she looked away even for a moment. She did not reach for him. She knew better after the first night the wolf visited her among old forests she once knew. Ethala pressed her palms to her thighs, and she let out a sigh. Even the sound startled her ethereal visitor, and he ducked low among the brush, attempting to avoid further acknowledgement._

_"I am with my family," Ethala decided to speak to the wolf," I wish you were here to meet them. My sister and my mother would have liked you. The rest of the clan doesn't matter."_

_The wolf did not respond. She expected nothing of him._

_"I used to think that when we defeated Corypheus, we would go to the Free Marches to meet them. It was my ideal ending to everything."_

_The wolf lowered its head to rest upon its paws, and its eyes looked to the earth below in shame. He was unwilling to flee from her just yet._

_"Maybe one day, we still could?" She let her sentence hang in the air as a question unanswered._

_This was enough to drive the wolf from her dream. His dark visage merely evaporated into the wild forest of the Wilds, and Ethala stared at the space he previously inhabited. As suddenly as the dream's clarity developed, it broke into a fogged memory of Skyhold. The smell of wet paint and parchment and tea._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments, the kudos, and the bookmarks. Every email makes me smile throughout the day as they arrive.


	3. Cassandra

**Cassandra**

Eventually, the rumors died. Days without the Herald turned into weeks, and Cassandra stared at the map before her. Silence had settled in upon the makeshift war table the Divine had made of her desk. To mark the potential whereabouts of their old friend, a board piece carved into the shape of a hala sat upon the Exalted Plains. Dalish activity had been reported. The same clan they encountered when the Inquisition held the Plains yet remained, but the most recent report marked the arrival of another-- Clan Lavellan, if the reports were to be believed. All of this, and yet no one could confirm a sighting of the Inquisitor herself.

 

She tried to ignore the heavy gaze of holy Andraste baring down at her from the twin statues behind Leliana’s seat. It felt like judgement. _How could you let her go like that? How could you let her go alone?_ She asked these questions many times. Cassandra wondered if she had done something wrong, said something that upset Lavellan to drive her to her goal alone. Upon her arrival, their intent seemed so clear. Solas’ peculiar scheme that played out behind the curtains of the Exalted Council muddied everything.

 

Cassandra let out a sigh, and she lifted her gaze to Leliana. Patient and focused, the Divine poured over the reports coming from the region. Unaware of Cassandra’s continuing turmoil regarding Lavellan’s disappearance, the Divine let the Seeker merely watch and listen. What conversation came up among them merely filled the air. They knew the answers already.

 

"Do you think she will appeal to the elves in the cities?" Cassandra interrupted.

 

"Perhaps,” The Divine began,” she often argued with Solas and Sera that the Elven peoples were still one people, but she believes they are a more likely source of his agents. The Dalish would revile the concept of aiding Fen’harel, no matter his goal.”

 

This earned another sigh from the Seeker who leaned forward to take the hala into her hands. She turned it over, considering the creature with her limited knowledge of the Dalish. Once, while they were in the Exalted Plains, a golden hala appeared to the Clan there on the same day the Inquisition arrived. Hanal’Ghilan, they called the creature. She caught only whispers of the Inquisitor’s conversation with the hala keeper, but she recalled something of the creature appearing in times of great need. She liked to imagine that the hala piece in her hand was the same sort of creature, that Lavellan herself would appear as the same. She held that quality for many who were at the Conclave, appearing at precisely the right time, when she was needed. No sooner, and no later.

 

“It would be easier to fight him,” Cassandra insisted, and she sat the hala piece upon the map again. “She must know this.”

 

“She does. "Leliana paused, and she spread her reports across the desk," but she does not wish to kill him or her own people."

 

"How will we know when she is ready to move? Did she say anything?" Cassandra's questions continued.

 

Her dear friend considered the hala token as well, and she stared at it awhile before any answer came," she said nothing. I imagine she will make her intent clear in her own way.”

 

Cassandra turned her gaze away. She considered Lavellan’s mastery of the Orlesian game, how she made herself queen in Halamshiral for all to see. It did not matter that Celene reigned. What mattered was who ruled the ballroom, and that night, it had been her. The same mastery played itself upon the floors of the Exalted Council, but rather than falsify her words, Lavellan walked away. She dissolved the Inquisition with a single confident word. She could make her move silently, or she could strike fiercely and with little doubt. They had to be watchful for either tactic.

 

“Then we can do nothing but wait,” Cassandra stood from her seat with haste.

 

It did her no good to sit. The Seeker thrived on action, and the inaction that came from her friend’s sudden disappearance left her ill at ease. She needed _something_ , anything to point the way. No divine mark made the way clear. No order gave her guidance. Hours like these troubled her more than any battle. At least in battle, she knew who to kill and how to do it. She did not know how to play this game.

 

“We must let her do as she chooses, now. We must wait, but we can also prepare. If a fight is to come, they will no doubt need additional forces. The Dalish aren’t warriors,” Leliana reached out, and she pushed the old Inquisition marker toward Val Royeaux,” she will need reliable support.”

 

“The Orlesians will support her out of obligation. The Empress’ debt is not yet paid,” Cassandra leaned over the map, and she considered each piece upon it.

 

The apt figurines of mabari, she ignored for now. Arl Teagan’s steadfast opposition to the Inquisition yet remained in her mind. Lavellan would see no support from him, at the least, and the support of the King could not be guaranteed. There was Kirkwall, where Varric now ruled as Viscount. Hawke, and most of her companions remained within the city. She touched a finger to the city upon the map, as if to mark it in her mind. Lavellan’s path would no doubt take her there.

 

“The Wardens in the south may be called upon, if her plans turn to battle. They owe their existence to her,” Leliana added, and she moved a figure in the shape of a griffon to Adamant.

 

“She cannot count on much more. I fear how far she will take this plot,” Cassandra lifted her gaze to the hole left behind beside the city of Solas in Tevinter.

 

“At least she has some experience building an army,” The Divine attempted to lighten the mood about the map,” Only she will be building it out of a much different material.”

 

“The faithful who flocked to Haven in the beginning will have no more experience than the Dalish have. She will need someone to teach them.”

 

Seeker Pentaghast turned her back on the map, and she left Leliana to stow away the pieces of their secret meeting. She knew naught but silence as she crossed the stone floor. Behind her, The Divine made her declaration of faith.

  
“The Maker will place the right people in her path.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter than ran a bit short. Again, thank you for the comments and the kudos. It means a lot to know people are reading.


	4. Venuriel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In hindsight, it feels like the Cassandra chapter is a little disorienting. I will leave it as a bit of an interlude. Please accept another shorter chapter, as the next will take me much longer and will likely be much longer. Ethala will finally address her clan next chapter. Thank you again for reading!

**Venuriel**

In the night, ill whispers filled the camp of Clan Lavellan. Venuriel knew their discontent with the Keeper’s dismissal of their changed Clansman’s mysterious return and appearance. They all questioned her bare face in the corners where Deshanna could not hear them. The young elf tried her best not to hear them as well. Blindly, she would defend her elder against such foul words, and it was not the night for quarrel. She celebrated her sister’s return in her mother’s way -- cleaning and decorating her sister’s hair until she fell asleep in Suhlana’s lap as a child might do.

 

They passed many similar nights in their childhood. Neither sister kept clean in their days, matting their hair as they wandered the forests together. Suhlana, doting mother that she was, would spend her nights beside the fire not listening to stories or preparing food, but trying to make her two joys presentable. As the years passed, Ethala overtook the duty and helped her sister with her hair. A day came where Ethala was no longer there, sent far away to spy on the shemlen Conclave. Somewhere in those years, Venuriel grew up just enough to keep her hair clean and brushed on her own.

 

In the morning light, she stared at her one-armed sister still attempting to pass the day as a woman with two arms. Ethala insisted upon doing her part, and beside the fire she looked like a woman who dreamed haunted dreams. Though her hair now shone and gleamed with a mother’s care and her garb again matched her station, it did not make her look any less weary. Her sister was, by all accounts, a boundless spring of energy that reflected this nature in all things. Perhaps the loss of her left forearm contributed to the cloud of restlessness that floated over the First. She tried so hard to tie the herbs gathered the day before for drying in the sun. It took every remaining limb to prepare the elfroot for preservation, stems held between her feet as she tied the bundle together with a single hand. She marveled at her sister’s ingenuity as she approached.

 

“Do you want me to help?” Venuriel offered as she sat beside her sister,” I promise I’ll wash my hands after we finish the roots for the hunters.”

 

She spoke of better days, when they were both children and the root oils made her sick when she licked her fingers. Ethala had warned her, but she did not listen-- a history that would repeat itself in many forms over many years. The worst of these warnings and their dismissals were still on the horizon.

 

“You are the third person to ask me that,” frustration rose up in Ethala’s voice, and the Elder refused to look at the younger.

 

“I just want to help make things easier--”

 

“Well, I don’t want anyone to make it easier!” Her sister interrupted,” I just want things to go back to how they were.”

 

It was a far off statement with many implications. The distant look in her elder sister’s eyes revealed that much. No specification came, and Venuriel glanced down into her lap. Her sister’s rejection stung, like a dry, quick wind off of the sea.

 

“Ir’Abelas,” The youngest apologized,” I wish I could understand what it was like.”

 

“To lose an arm?” Ethala let her question hang in the air, pushed away only by a grunt of effort when the bundle of elfroot shifted to far in the grip of her heels.

 

“And what the Inquisition was like. You just.. You seem so different. What changed?” Venuriel took a bundle of the Elfroot without her sister’s permission, and she tied it slowly as not to make her sister feel bad.

 

“Everything changed,” the eldest paused in her work,” It was very strange to go from Clan to Inquisition, and back again..”

 

“Were there a lot of people?” Venuriel dared to look at her sister again, and she found Ethala’s expression wistful.

 

“So many, as far as the eye could see when we moved as an army. Shems and dwarves and elvhen and qunari-- just trying to keep the world safe. They all looked to me for answers, and sometimes I didn’t have them. Others knew better than I did, sometimes. It took everything in me not to run away the first few months,” Ethala smiled briefly,” at least I wasn’t entirely alone. Someone was there to make sure I didn’t leave.”

 

“What was their name?”

 

“His name was Solas. He was an elf too,” Ethala took a deep breath, and in her pause reached for another bundle of elfroot,” He just made me feel like I wasn’t alone, so it was especially helpful in the earlier days when everything was Andraste this and Maker that, and everyone else was afraid to look at me.”

 

Venuriel let a silence settle in, and she feared the questions that stood to dance upon her tongue. Her sister’s own apprehension in discussing this elf called pride showed in her focus upon her task. She wanted to ask who he was, where he was, but she did not. Instead, she chose to address the rest of the Inquisition. Solas could wait. His name terrorized her sister enough.

 

"Did it stay that way?" Venuriel whispered.

 

"No. Before long, I had many friends, and the shemlen food quit hurting my stomach." She smiled instead, as if those thoughts were more pleasant.

 

The young elf set aside her work, now completed, and she reached out to touch her sister's leg. A gentle, ghost of a touch to acknowledge what was buried. The grave where Ethala buried her memories of the Inquisition need not be dug up for her.

 

"No matter what anyone else says, I am glad you're back. I don't care about your vallaslin, I care about my sister."

 

Ethala scoffed, as if the notion seemed alien to her. The rumors whispered about her evidently found her ears, if her reaction meant anything. She let her finished bundle join the others, and she leaned back on her hand to look around the camp. A look of melancholy came upon her.

 

"They don't even know why I am here, and they look at me with eyes like that. Will they ever love me again, Ven?"

 

"You were their First. They will remember what you did for them, once they get used to your changed face. Your vallaslin don't make you who you are," Venuriel leaned forward and encircled her sister in her arms. An embrace seemed the only panacea.

 

"When did my baby sister grow so wise?" Ethala dropped her head into her sister’s shoulder.

 

"While you were gone," she answered simply.

 

Venuriel held her elder sister for so long as Ethala desired, and she noted the curious glances of the remaining clansmen. The hunters left for their work long ago, and the younger women went to search for usable herbs in the area. The elders, however, bore witness to the tender and potent moment between two sisters. They remained as witnesses throughout the day, as together, Venuriel and Ethala went about their duties preparing the herbs.

 

Venuriel found that the haunted woman with haunted dreams was still her sister. Though she claimed everything had changed, the noble First still hid beneath her unmarked face. Her protective sister came out from behind her shadowed eyes. She thanked the Creators that the woman she knew before still remained, and the shemlen had not taken her away to replace her with a holy woman. Ethala spoke with softer words and she walked with more careful feet. Still, she was her sister.

 

The realization came with a wave of relief, and it spread from Venuriel to the rest of the clan. Their uncertainty was less palpable in the air, even with those that came after her tender moments with her long absent sister. To see her still beside the fire upon their return must have brought them comfort, and a night passed with her directly engaging her people gave them the knowledge she still remembered them. Only one man did not approach Ethala in the night beside the fire.

 

His name was Vahlan, a man she knew grew up beside her sister. There were whispers among the clan that this hunter had come to love the First over those years, and that for a time, they were lovers. To Venuriel’s knowledge, this ended when Ethala left for the Conclave, and so Vahlan did not approach her. Instead, he watched her across the firepit through black hair and vallaslin to praise Andruil. He kept a hand on his bow, as if it gave him comfort. He returned from the hunt he set out upon the day before only to discover Ethala had indeed been waiting. Surely, he needed what comfort he could take from anything.

 

Venuriel found it strange how Ethala did not even look at him, and she found that in this her questions of Solas were answered. He meant a great deal to her sister if Vahlan’s harsh gaze could not be felt upon her bare face. To each party, a significance danced beside the fire. To Vahlan, she imagined that he found the measure of his worth in Ethala’s disinterest. For the First, it was a measure of what did change.

  
Morning would bring further measures by which Venuriel could assess her sister’s great changes. There would be no further secrets.


End file.
